


Trouble

by oddishly



Series: seasons [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 06:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/pseuds/oddishly
Summary: There's a monster in the woods.





	Trouble

There's another monster in the woods. There's always another monster in the woods.

"Come along, Merlin," says Arthur. They're far out of the citadel, the horses exhausted and Merlin exhausted and Arthur showing no signs of it. "All you've got to do is follow us out there. Then I'll kill the giant snake while you watch from a safe distance, and you can dig a hole to bury it in, and before you know it we'll be back in Camelot, safe and sound. I don't know why you're dragging your feet."

"I can't imagine," Merlin mutters. Many miles from Camelot, the mountains have become rolling green hills and the smell of salt on the wind in the occasional clearing. It's how Merlin has come to like it, usually: no other servants, no Uther, no one out to kill Arthur except those from whom Merlin is finding he can take cover behind a tree and kill or maim first. Right now he would like a warm bed.

"What was that?" says Arthur over his shoulder. "Did you say something that might get you in trouble there, Merlin?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Merlin, of course, has dreamt of lots of things. "Ah. Shall we stop soon, my lord? Or are we continuing until we fall off our horses?"

Arthur sweeps one snowy tree branch out of his face, then another. "I won’t be falling from mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did, though, no matter how often I tell you not to.”

Merlin ducks the branches and considers. “You’ve never told me not to fall off my horse. You just roll your eyes every time I do. And, you know. Laugh at me.”

“Yes, well, any reasonable man would interpret that for the future as _don’t fall off your horse_ ,” says Arthur. He holds up the next branch for Merlin. “Any man experienced in battle.”

“I’ve been in loads of battles.”

“I know,” says Arthur, somewhat surprisingly. “And you still never learn.”

“Well—I try. Just because you keep us going until I can’t help falling asleep. You should try being the servant for once, you’ll see just how exhausting it is to stop people killing you. Or—me, in this case.”

“Hard work, hovering behind me, is it?”

“Very,” says Merlin, and ducks, swallowing his irritation when Arthur lets the next branch spring back. He wants to not be talking about this. Or to be able to talk about it. They would be in their tent by now if he could melt the snow slowing them down without getting his head chopped off. “Would you like me to go first for a while, my lord?”

“Yes, I think so,” says Arthur, and lets Merlin ride past him to take the lead. “All right. We’ll stop at the next clearing. This is getting unpleasant.”

“Is it?”

Merlin leads them through a dense copse of firs, the branches strong and bendy and snapping back against his face, a healthy holly tree surprising him in the middle, and when they get through to the other side, Merlin reaches up to press his fingers gingerly to his nose. “Ow.” If they’re lucky, in whatever clearing Arthur deems good enough to stop in, Merlin will find yarrow to crush and rub on the cuts to take away the sting. Perhaps Arthur—Merlin buries the thought.

He looks over his shoulder. Arthur has gone quiet. “What’s up with you? Er. My lord.”

“Nothing. This will do,” says Arthur, dismounting and swinging his pack to the ground. It’s barely a clearing, just a wet patch of earth that doesn’t have a tree in it. “Get a fire started, I’m hungry.”

Merlin looks up at where the sky should be. “Yes, sire.”

“Merlin.” Merlin turns; Arthur is standing with an inscrutable expression—or maybe just an indiscernible one—on the other side of where their tent is going to go. “I’m joking.”

“Yes, sire,” mutters Merlin.

They get the tent set up quickly, Merlin whispering spells to send the surface water deeper underground every time Arthur turns away to tie ropes around branches or drive a peg into the earth. He's being extraordinarily helpful. Merlin wonders if he feels guilty.

Arthur crawls inside the tent once it's up and turns, clears his throat. “Those villagers said there had been these giant snakes before?”

“Every few years.” Merlin, still outside, tosses his pack to Arthur so he can retrieve the dried meat Merlin packed for them both. “They think they might all be from the same nest—”

Arthur shudders.

“—but they’ve never found that nest so they can’t check and kill them all.” 

“Lovely.”

"Yeah," says Merlin, and brushes the snowflakes out of his hair.

If Merlin was in charge, he could keep Arthur in Camelot. If he could use his magic in the open—which Merlin can only really picture if he also imagines being in charge—they would both be inside right now, someone else dealing with this problem, Merlin polishing Arthur’s armour by the fire while Arthur read some treatise or other. Or the other way around, with Arthur filling Merlin’s bath. Ready to follow Merlin’s every order. 

"If we don’t find it tomorrow," says Arthur, looking glumly up at the heavy clouds lumbering past the stars, "we'll have to come back next year before the snow melts."

The dark space between the leaves is beckoning, and the sleet is growing stronger, more snow than rain. Somewhere just beyond, the snake is waiting for them. Merlin will be ready.

"Although perhaps,” Arthur continues, “we should just stay until we do find it. My father be damned.”

Merlin catches his eye. “Careful, Arthur. Sounds like you just said something that might get you in trouble.”

Arthur almost smiles. "We'll get to the village in the morning,” he says. He’s looking at Merlin, water dripping from the tent and onto his face, on his knees and trembling. "Get in here, then."

Different kind of trouble, Merlin thinks.


End file.
